


When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Major Spoilers, Not everyone is a werewolf, Pack Dynamics, Red Dead Redemption 1 Spoilers, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Red Dead Redemption Spoilers, Self Harm, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Abigail wasn't a wolf.And so she couldn't understand why John had taken to ranging again. Why he sulked. Why he hurt. He loved her, he did, so so much. But she couldn't understand how much hehurt.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar

Abigail wasn't a wolf.

And so she couldn't understand why John had taken to ranging again. He adored her, as any wolf loved their mate. Would have happily given his life for her, for Jack. He loved the boy more than anything, would have skinned himself and let the boy use him as a wall mount if he thought it would help.

But he was _hurting_ , and Abigail couldn't understand that pain.

  
  


Though they had abandoned him, Bill and Javier and Dutch were still Pack. Dutch had always been his Pa, and to his wolf he was still his Alpha, even though John had tried to make Abigail and Jack and Uncle his own pack. None of them were wolf, though, and so to his wolf, they didn't count. Jack hadn't taken after him, though the wolf still haunted his blood, and so to his wolf, he was still Dutch's.

He had (well, used to have) their Pack-Bond, for years after they'd separated. After Bill had pointed his gun at him, after Javier had hesitated, pointed his gun at the moon, before bolting in the opposite direction when the Pinkertons appeared. The Pack-Bond didn't let them mentally communicate, like some liked to say, or share emotions. It only told them that their Packmates were still alive. 

Which spoke to how deep under Dutch and Micah's spell the pair had been that, when Dutch had said he was dead, they'd believed him. Their wolves had known otherwise, but they hadn't listened.

So he had known that Dutch, Javier and Bill were still alive as he raised up his boy.

  
  


Wolves don't kill their Packmates. To a wolf, Pack as everything. Any wolf will gladly give its life for its Pack, which told of how far gone Dutch was that he had allowed his to fall so far, how he had allowed his Packmates, one that he had raised like a son, to die in front of him.

But he did.

Hunted them down like rabbits, acted as a hound more than a wolf under the command of others, relentless and determined no matter how hard they fought back and how far they ran.

As it turned out, the shattering of a Pack-Bond hurt. He'd known that already, had felt it when Hosea had been shot, when Arthur had died, and it had driven him to his knees, leaving him keening and sobbing and breathless, but he'd never felt such a pain as when he watched Bill fold to the ground, his Packmate dead at his hand. It had felt as though someone had torn at his very soul, had felt _wrongwrongwrong_ , as though he had betrayed his very being. It was only that he wasn't alone that he hadn't collapsed, and the moment they were gone he'd staggered into the bushes and vomited, succumbed to the pain and thrashed in the dirt, keening and sobbing and howling in turns, clawing at his chest until he bled, wanting to tear free the taint that he'd forced into himself but not being able to.

Javier hadn't hurt as badly, he'd chased him down and dragged him to a cage, but hadn't done the killing, had fled back to the states before he'd been hanged. Still, it had _burned_ , tearing through him until he'd fallen from his horse and been sick in the bushes, tearing at his chest and whining like a struck dog.

  
  


With Dutch, the last of his Pack-Bonds snapped, and he was a lone wolf again. Others of the gang, of his Pack, still lived, but they weren't wolf, and so to his wolf they didn't matter. And so he _hurt_ , but he was so distracted with having his mate and pup back, with rebuilding his home, that it was just a dull ache at the back of his mind.

But then they fell into a routine, and Jack didn't want to spend any time with him, and maintaining the farm was just that: maintenance. And the pain grew and grew, and he _burned_ and he _hurt_.

So he took to ranging, unable to put his pain into words, Abigail wanting to help but not able to understand what was wrong. He was restless, searching for something, but what for he didn't know. 


End file.
